Forgotten
by RebeccaJoy98
Summary: Clover was a normal fourteen year old girl. She lived with her parents, had a best friend she would die without, obsessed over boys, and could be identified by pretty much every other teenage girl cliché there is, except, Clover is anything but normal, and she will never feel that way again once she learns the truth about being forgotten and that's the day when the letter arrives.


Ok, so sorry about the short first chapter, but I promise they will get better and longer(:

Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the Harry Potter series, I only own my characters and plot.

The day the letter arrived at my house, was the last day of my so-called normal life. I had never needed to question whether my perfectly strange parents were my real parents before, I had never wondered why I was somewhere, but, mostly, I had never wondered why the universe hated me. But, of course, you might want to hear my story up to this point.

It was the first day of summer after my eighth grade year. My best friend, Daisy, and I were hanging out at her mom's organic frozen yogurt shop. Yellow Springs was a funny little town; it was a mix of hippie, country, and antique influences in a melting pot of cute little shops and festivals. Currently I was enjoying the music from our Jazz Fest that happened once a year.

"You know, I really think Mom should discontinue her pickle flavor. Nobody really likes it." Daisy said absent mindedly as she cleaned her spoon of her caramel corn yogurt. Momma (as I called Daisy's mom) liked to be unique with her shop, once she even made a batch of candle flavored yogurt.

"She should bring back the black raspberry. I liked that one!" I took another bite of mine, before the little bell on the front door chimed.

"Clo? You here?" I could hear my mother from the dining area of the tiny store. Daisy and I would sit in the back room to sample the new flavors.

"Back here!" I called to her. She appeared in the doorway a moment later with her usual smile.

"Dad's making dinner, so I came to get you." She explained. Daisy looked up long enough from her cup to show her slight frown. When I wasn't here she had to wait on customers alone.

"Ok, see you later, Daisy." I got up and followed my mom to the street beyond the shop. Given that Yellow Springs is such a small town, we were able to walk home in under five minutes.

The house was an old Victorian looking home on the outskirts of the downtown area. The siding was a light lime color and the shudders and wrap-around porch was dark teal. My mom had a thing for owls so we had decorations of them all over: on the rug, wooden statuettes, even an owl painted on the front door.

The house smelled of garlic. I began to wonder what dinner was until I remembered that it was dad who was cooking. Pasta.

"We're home!" Mom called as we walked through the door.

"Come sit down, dinner's ready." As always we sat around our small, wooden table. I had always guessed it was hand carved due to the tiny intricate details on the legs.

As far as dinner conversations went, this one wasn't half bad. Mom was talking about some of the jazz acts she had seen on her lunch break around town, she owned a homemade jewelry store near Momma's fro-yo shop.

Most of the time I eat as quickly as possible so I can go to my room and avoid the awkward talk my parents had, but I wasn't exactly hungry enough to scarf down my noodles in butter. Eventually I blurred the talk out of my mind and focused on a small owl, that I had spotted through the window, had landed on the fence in our backyard. It was a tiny little bird, not much bigger than a full grown toy dog. As interested as I was in it, it seemed to be just as intent on me. Whenever I tilted my head, it did, whenever I moved my arm, it lifted its wing.

"Clover? Are you ok?" I heard my name and zoomed out of my trance.

"Umm—yeah." I shook my head and looked out the window, the owl was gone.

"What were you looking at?" My dad asked in between bites of pasta.

"Uhh—nothing—just a bird." I shoved the last bit of noodles into my mouth and got up to take care of my dishes.

"Clo, take care of the recycling would you?" My mother turned in her seat and pointed to the little green box next to the counter. In turn, I picked it up and carried it out the front door.

Upon reaching the sidewalk I placed the box and turned back toward the door only to see the owl sitting on the mailbox, sticking out of its claw: a letter.


End file.
